


Lament

by WednesdayAngeline



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: F/F, Gen, Graphic Description, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 07:39:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8048017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WednesdayAngeline/pseuds/WednesdayAngeline
Summary: A/N: TRIGGER WARNING – GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF SELF HARM.
Written for stress relief but I feel like this one’s good enough to be posted? Just some conversation between Trix and Katya as best friends…please please please don’t read if this triggers you. Don’t trigger yourself. Please. Just don’t. Feedback and criticism welcome (leave a comment or send me an ask at wednesday-angeline.tumblr.com!) Anyway, hope people like this? Also note: they’re cisgirls. Set in high school.





	Lament

“Oh, Katya.” Trixie reached her hand out tentatively to touch them, but Katya flinched almost instantly, batting the other girl’s hand away. Trixie knew for a while, already, that Katya self-harmed, but she’s never seen the evidence up close, and somehow it seems so much more real now. And god, she fucking hates it.

Katya shook her head. “Don’t even think about touching them, Trix.” She seemed to deflate with each word, despite the sternness in her voice. Now Trixie would leave her like everyone else did when she told their little group about her secret. Violet called her “one of those attention seeking emo girls” and Pearl just told her to “go hang out with that goth freak Sharon Needles.” Who Katya actually admired for her confidence. Even Fame and Max, both who were considerably less bitchy than the other two, kept their distance. “Are you- do you hate me now?”

“Katya, Katya, I could never hate you.” Trixie stared into Katya’s eyes. “But this makes my heart hurt.” She turned her gaze again to the other blonde’s thighs - old, fading white lines in sets of hatches gave way to new, angry red gashes, some of them steri-striped and stitched. “These are all, right? You don’t have anything anywhere else?”

Katya shrugged, playing nonchalant. “Just bruises on my knuckles, but doesn’t everyone punch walls these days? Classical teenage angst.” She chuckled, but Trixie didn’t laugh along. “Okay, I’m putting my skirt back on, just in case anyone walks in.”

Trixie was brought back to their surroundings, the locker room empty save the two of them. It was huge, not so big to give a sense of freedom, but just big enough to make one feel smaller than a speck of dust. She looked away and played with her fingers as Katya wore her skirt and sat back down onto the bench with a plop. “Does it hurt?”

“What?”

“The cutting. Does it hurt?”

Katya laughed, her wheezes echoing in the room. “Yes, of course it fucking hurts, Trix. I’m literally slicing my own skin apart to the fat layer, Trixie. That really hurts. And takes several goes most of the time.” She paused, composed herself from the last breathless giggle. “Why do I still do it when it hurts so much, Trixie? It’s just as fucked up as it sounds – I’m addicted to it. It’s like being addicted to alcohol but only a thousand times worse when you change and you see your wounds and want to cut again, or when they sting like crazy in the shower but some fucked up part of you think you deserve it, or at cheerleading where I’m both anxious that my wounds will bleed through the skirt and that they’ll split open, or when you wear denim shorts because it’s too hot not to but you get paranoid when you sit down and the smallest hint of a scar shows, not to mention how denim fucking hurts rubbing against wounds. But the relief, the relaxation I get from it is incomparable, it’s like this calmness that just makes time stop for a moment and everything is fine for a split second. It’s crazy, Trix. I’m crazy.”

“The old ones – the scars, they don’t seem as bad. Do they all fade that way?”

“Oh no, love, I wish. Those were baby cuts, small scrapes into the dermis and nothing more. I’ve only started cutting ‘deep’-” here she made finger quotes- “in the past six months. Sort of a side effect of cutting is that you feel like it’s never deep enough. And the more you do it the more you feel this way.

They were silent for a while, Trixie fiddling with her thumbs again and Katya staring into the tiled wall.

“I’m sorry, Trix. I’m a little harsh sometimes when it comes to this. Sensitive subject. This was all stupid, I probably scared you. Forget I showed you anything, okay?”

“No, it’s fine. They’re–”

“Not beautiful,” Katya interrupted. “They’re not beautiful or tragically pretty, okay? I’m sick of all the romanticizing bullshit people like to sprout about cuts, because it’s fucked up and people who say that have probably never been through a cutter’s experience. Or any self-harm for that matter, same applies.”

“I was going to say that they’re at least taken good care of,” said Trixie, her voice softer.

“Oh.”

Silence. More awkward than anything, now.

“Katya?”

“Yeah?”

“Try not to do it, will you? Please, for me.”

“Mhmm…can’t make promises.”

Trixie gripped Katya’s hands, forcing the girl to make eye contact. “I know telling you to stop won’t make you stop, but please, please, just call me or text me if you want to cut or something, I’ll always be here, okay? I’d do anything.”

“I’ll try.”

“I’ll take that.”

Silence, but it was calmer, and their hands were intertwined – Trixie being careful not to grip Katya’s too tight in fear of further bruising her knuckles.

“Trix?”

“Hm?”

“Thanks.”


End file.
